


Dock Brief

by executrix



Category: Blakes7
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-04
Updated: 2011-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-21 01:14:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/executrix/pseuds/executrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two cases from the files of Rumpole of the Federation</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dock Brief

Part 1  
Of course he said "I'm innocent"—so did all my clients. All except one, come to think of it, and there was a certain piquancy in that one being involved in the mess my current charge found himself in. I shuddered. His young wife had just been to my chambers—pregnant out to the wall, crying and taking on. An undignified sight. That's what comes of jumping up these Gammas to where they can't handle themselves.

"But why me?" he said. "I didn't do anything."

"You were the Third Officer," I said.

"But the Captain…."

"Raiker's dead, a heroic sacrifice to the noble cause of patriotism. Leylan topped himself as soon as he got back from Cygnus Alpha. Might have just stayed there and saved the fuel. So that leaves you."

What I'd heard, over a recent bottle of Chateau Dome Embankment, was that the Ship That Got Away was some sort of hush-hush alien technology. An Example Had To Be Made. They say that Space Command paid an ungodsly amount to some consultant out at the back of beyond (that's two Delta primary schools out of the wartime budget, not that anyone'd miss 'em). Some sort of superlative analyzing engine produced a report that the crew of the London let the future of Federation air power slip through their hands.

I pondered the time-honored Blame the Dead Bloke, He's Not Going to Complain defense. I'd used it more often than this chap Artix was going to have hot dinners on Ursa Prime starting about next week, but it wouldn't wash this time. It had been a long time since I took on a dock brief, but She Who Must Be Obeyed wanted a crafty old stager who'd make sure that nothing went wrong.

And nothing would, of course. One "transporter accident" in the Western Circuit was quite enough.

Part 2  
"I never meant to kill her," he said earnestly, "And I can't tell you how sorry I am that it happened."

Kill **her**? Perhaps if he were delusional, I could get the Ping-Pong Ball to send him to an asylum instead of Modifying or electrocuting him. (They used to hang 'em, but three of the Council members are directors of power companies.)

"She came at me with the bread knife, you see. Said that it was going to be the last time I ever hit her. Well, a man's got to be master in his own house, hasn't he? So I punched her—don't always know my own strength, really, especially with a drop taken—and she fell down and hit her head on the edge of the work surface. So I suppose she was right after all."

"But what about Trooper…" (I accessed my handcomp) "…Gilplaiv?"

"I thought that as it wasn't really my fault that Arthua was dead, I should make it look like a transporter accident. And that rozzer, well, he came along at just the wrong moment."

I held up my hand to stop him in full spate. "I'm sure your memories of this very tragic and traumatic incident are blurred," I said. "And no doubt in the fullness of time you'll remember more. Perhaps that you were temporarily mad with rage when you discovered that GilWhatzit had killed Thingie…"

"Arthua," he said sadly.

"And you both reached for the gun, and then the trooper fell, an unfortunate accident really."

"Chap'd have to be awfully unlucky to have so many accidents so close together," he said.

"Looking back on it, perhaps you'll remember that there was only the one accident." I'm a bit of a history buff, and I felt a sharp pang of nostalgia for the good old days when I could have packed the jury with Labor Grades and got him dismissed from the court with a medal from a grateful citizenry.

I forgot about the case for a bit. Then I got a rather lucrative brief in connection with which I had to meet with Councilor Chesku. He's got a bee in his bonnet about Social Technology. I threw this case in as a lagniappe for a deal under which my private client got off with a Downgrade and three years' Community Service at the Weapons Development Base. Losing a technologist of that calibre would be a pity.

I went back to the Detention Centre and put a good face on it. "I've made a deal under which you won't have to stand trial, and you'll get some help controlling your temper," I said. "I'm afraid you'll be exiled to Cygnus Alpha, though."

"Oh, well, there's nothing left for me here now she's gone," he said. "And Cygnus Alpha isn't a Domed Planet, is it?" I shook my head. "That's all right then," he said. "I was sent to an Agricultural World once, on a temporary assignment. That was all right, being Outside under the sun and the stars." He shook my hand and thanked me for my work on his behalf.

I felt a bit cheap after that but nothing that a bottle of Chateau Dome Embankment couldn't wash away.


End file.
